


To Distant Lands

by Measured



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Rebuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1401727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They may have left Tellius, but they didn't get far. With the borderline still on the horizon, Ike and Soren work to rebuild a broken down building, reunite with old friends, and finally figure out the unsaid feelings that lay between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Distant Lands

**Author's Note:**

> For fixitstory big bang, and for Distorted-R. Inspiration comes from the fic_promptly prompt: _Any, any, they ride off into the sunset just far enough to get to the next town, and then they open a restaurant._
> 
> [Waulking songs](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waulking_song).
> 
> Thanks to Jana for the beta!
> 
> Art for story is [here](http://kiu22.tumblr.com/post/81422199496/for-yourunderwaterskiess-fic-to-distant-lands-go)

Soren pulled back his hair, the hair tie stuck between his teeth as he redid each ponytail. The map lay unfurled, partially read on the ground beside his scuffed leather boot. Rain had put their journey on hold for days, the mud so thick that they could lose whole boots to it.

Ike had been staring at the shamble beside the road for some time, and there really was no other word for it. The windows were a broken maw of shattered glass, stained brown with the blood and dirt of many years. The door was caved in, and even in the heaviest rain, they hadn't drawn near for shelter.

It was the sort of building that children made stories about, that housed ghosts and curses, black cats and all other kinds of petty, juvenile fears. And yet, something about it had captured Ike's attention. He got up and began to look through the mess of the building, his hand running across the splintered, faded wood of the doorway. The door looked as it had been kicked in, splintered and hanging from only one rusted hinge.

"Did you see something inside?" Soren said.

"Potential," Ike replied.

Ike saw promise in all broken-down things. The hopeless war he'd won, the group of misfits in the mercenary group he had inherited, even himself.

"Wasn't there more of the world you wanted to see?" Soren said.

"It can wait," Ike said.

Soren picked up the map and put it back in his bag. The location never mattered in the end; as long as he was with Ike, he would be content.

*

They re-pitched their tent that night under the shelter of trees. Blankets were laid inside, lit only by the flicker of dying lanterns spread out like a ward. Ike was quieter than usual, full of thoughts and plans. He was not one for deep drawn out ruminations—that was Soren's method––but at times a goal would come to him. Winning a war, becoming a hero, getting away from ever being considered a hero or a noble.

The border of Tellius was mere miles away, so much that emissaries could be seen passing by the small town, emblems of laguz kingdoms embroidered on the chest of their tunics. 

Ike could never quite leave behind those he loved, even as he refused to be put on their pedestals. 

*

First came out the glass. Soren swept up the debris with a broom bought from the town—the first tool for their new home together. He had a scarf tied over his face to keep out the dust that the shuffle of his feet and the straw bottom broom brought up. The structure was sound enough, though there had been a hole in the roof. Soren made a mental note to trade for buckets whenever possible.

There were bones and teeth among the leaves and fallen glass. Animal, not human. Soren burned sage, though he did not cow to ghost stories and fears. As a magician, he was well acquainted with the workings of spirits.

Sage scent clung to his skin, his hair. He slept and woke with that sweet musk of burnt incense. The mold scent was overwhelmed by new herbs and spices, until it was little more than a faint undertone. 

As the weeks of work passed, he could almost see the glimmers of hope which Ike had seen through the dirt and ashes.

*

"My bedroll got soaked," Soren said. He attempted to wring it out to the mud outside, only to feel the full weight of the heavy wet wool.

"That storm came on pretty fast. At least I forgot to air my blanket out," Ike said.

It wasn't the first time Ike's absentmindedness had saved them. Soren wrung out his wet hair. His robes clung to his skin in places, and he had to peel the material off. Stripped down to his shortclothes, Soren kept his gaze on the flickering lantern, and away from Ike. He was only faintly aware of Ike behind him, and then the feel of the cloak being tied about his shoulders. Soren wrapped himself in it, the salt sweat smell, the familiar feel.

"Come to bed," Ike said. He patted the bedroll beside him.

And it was said so easily, just as if they were longtime lovers, and such displays of affection were commonplace.

"I'm not having you freeze to death out there," Ike said.

Soren nodded and slipped under the wool blanket, cloak wrapped tightly about him. Ike felt so much more warm and solid than those childhood days of napping under trees in the woods. Ike leaned on his arm, and watched Soren, the faint trace of a smile.

"That better? I don't want you to catch a chill," Ike said.

Soren nodded.

He was calmer and unburdened now. Nestled in Ike's arms, he could almost forget at times where he belonged. 

"It's over now," Ike said. "No, that's not right. Really, it's just begun."

"Should I send the first letter to Mist tomorrow? She did threaten to hunt us down and hug us to death if we didn't reply," Soren said.

"We'll wait a while. If we send it now, everyone will be here, and we won't have a moment to ourselves."

 _Ourselves?_ Soren didn't voice the question, the hope. He stifled it. Dirt poured on fire to snuff out the oxygen. 

Ike had held him close before the last battle. He'd petted his hair and stopped the tears which had broken free as the very last walls he'd kept up for so long, that last secret was finally brought to light. 

But daylight had come, and with it Soren had returned to his place at Ike's side. His friend, his companion, and never anything more.

"Ourselves," Ike said, with a little smile which Soren couldn't read, even as he had studied and known all of Ike's facets. In the calm of another place, Ike had grown in ways that even Soren couldn't have guessed.

*

Soren picked moss from shade, under trees and over rocks. After leaving them to dry, he filled Ike's and his boots with them. The soles had worn out on their boots during the war, but there'd been neither time nor money to replace them. 

Soren had learned to mend holes, darn socks, but he couldn't work leather. As of now, they didn't even have enough for a few nights in an inn, let alone a new pair of boots for both of them. Ike refused to take any of the funds from the Greil's Mercenaries, and the clothes on his back. It was Soren who had to pack the extra maps, tomes, clothes and food. Ike always trusted him in that regard. He never was much for material goods.

There was a brightness, a light inside him. Ike couldn't live without fixing something, without taking care of those around him.

"The local farmer asked me to walk with her daughter on the delivery route," Ike said.

Soren looked up from Ike's palm. One of the scars hadn't healed smooth. He'd have to rub salve into his palm later.

"That's the third time this week. You _did_ accept money for this time, right?"

"No," Ike said.

"We can't eat _goodwill,_ Ike," Soren said.

"Actually, we can. We're invited to dinner as a thank you," Ike said. 

Soren turned away. "She's just trying to catch your eye and marry you." 

More bitter than intended. He took a breath. Bite down the jealousy. Bite down what he could never have.

"They don't know I'm the hero of Crimea. To them I'm just a traveling mercenary," Ike said.

Soren kept the bitter words inside of him. _You've already become their hero. You can't escape this mantle, because you'll always save people...just like you saved me._

"All right," Soren said.

*

The fire crackled nearby, a dim glimmer across the room. It was far too dim to read by, so his few tomes had been set aside, stacked as neatly by the bed as he could manage.

Already there was a small bookcase built in the corner, and new books bought in shopping trips. Soren couldn't bring himself to chastise Ike for the gifts too much. 

Ike used his knife to cut at the large stick he'd gathered from the forest earlier. He'd yet to spear a fish, but that didn't stop him from trying. Near the door rested a newly made bow, sent from Crimea with a note from Mist had come in. It'd taken them less than a year to find them, though with Mist's determination, Soren was truly surprised it'd taken that long.

It had Shinon's mark on it, and Soren could swear he could feel an dark aura of grudging coming from it. Arrows littered the trees as Ike attempted to learn this new weapon. Little by little, they grew, they changed.

*

As Spring melded into long summer days, Soren hiked up the skirts of his robes and peeled off his pants. Folded beside his neat bedroll, the tallow candle burnt down the to nub. Another thing for the growing list. He'd have to take on more work to ensure they didn't run out of supplies again.

However, the wild supplemented their food, at least. 

Blackberries and raspberries stained his fingertips. He slipped them in his mouth one by one, the tart and sweet taste thick with nostalgia for younger days. He dipped his fingers into the cold water and the stain remained.

"Does your back hurt?" Soren said.

Ike shook his head. "A little. It's nothing, though."

Soren pushed the basket full of berries aside and dried his hands on the skirts of his robes. He placed his palm to Ike's back and began to rub. Ike let out a little sigh. His feet were ankle-deep in the stream, and his toes twitched, causing ripples under the water.

"You'll catch fish if you keep up like that," Soren said.

"It'd be the first time all month," Ike said.

Ike patted the riverbed beside him. Blades of green grass tickled his feet as he stepped closer. His foot brushed Ike's for a moment, and then, Ike pushed against him. Like footsie under the table at lunch, a little secret between them. They hadn't known war then, or at least, Ike hadn't. Each day was another slice of peace and innocence which would all too soon fade. Long summer days reading, Ike sleeping on his shoulder, and the secret of the flutter in his chest as he tried to control his heartbeat.

Sometimes, Soren wished he could protect Ike from this roughness, the coldness of humanity he knew all too well. But whatever power he gained, time travel and reanimation were not a part of them. No matter what gift was bargained or sacrificed for, Ike would become a hero one way or another.

But Ike would still believe, no matter who he lost, and what happened. And Soren would support and protect him in whatever way he could.

*

The steady beat of a hammer was cut short by the sound of wings. Ike held the nails in mouth, and looked up to the new visitor. Janaff lifted his large brown wings and landed at the edge. In his arms was another load of cut lumber from the forest.

"Compliments of the king," he said, with a salute. Behind him was Ulki, who silently laid down black roofing tiles beside the lumber.

"Thank you—"

"Our king says you'll give your thanks by visiting," Janaff said.

Soren stepped out from the front walk, and rested his broom against the doorway.

"Ten gold says your sister is behind this," Soren said.

Janaff laughed. "The whole country is uniting to get you both to come to dinner."

Ulki nodded in solemn agreement.

Ike looked down to Soren, and they shared a silent agreement.

"Perhaps next year; if we abandoned the house, all the work would come to naught," Soren said.

"I'll tell my king. Remember, our king is far more patient than our _prince_ ," Janaff said.

They flew off before Ike or Soren could reply, brown feathers in the soft wind. Ike watched after them a moment, before setting his hammer aside.

"We'll have to go much farther on if you wish to avoid going back," Soren said.

"It's all right. I just wanted some space to breathe," Ike said. "That's all."

Ike hadn't tried very hard to escape. He could never truly leave his family behind.

"Are you going to return later on to take over the mercenaries again?" Soren said.

"No. Titania is doing a good job," he said.

"The rest will show up eventually. Janaff can never resist gossiping," Soren said. 

"By the time they do, this will be ready," Ike said.

The sun was low in the sky, and red gold behind the black mess of trees. Another day done, another step closer.

*

New windows, a new coat of paint. Sealant to the cracks, and a brand new door with a sword carved into the front. Salt across the windowpanes and across the outside to keep the malignant spirits at bay. It didn't look new, but the house no longer was a thing of children's nightmares. 

He no longer had to push close to Ike to keep warm past the chill slipping through the cracks, but he did anyways. His dark hair spread out over Ike's arms as he nestled in close, ignoring the warmer weather, the better blankets, the possibility of building a new bed for him.

Ike never complained about discomfort, and neither would Soren.

*

Havira, the owner of the largest farm of dairy and noted member of the community, had approached him days ago to help, though he hadn't expected it to be this soon. In this land a whole slew of summer crops grew, so that there would be harvest and canning nigh every season. Rooms were stained with soot from high fires, dried herbs were stacked on every side. 

The rich black earth seemed blessed by magic, he'd felt it beneath his feet before in the forests, the nearby town.

He heard laughter as he stepped into the house. The scent of fire and smoke filled the room. Jar after jar of food was sealed in with benign magic. The heavy spices and water kept them from going bad. Havira, the dairy mother oversaw it all, as other wives set to work. The air was so hot and full of pine to bring on the beginnings of a headache.

"We haven't had a good magic worker since the last greenwitch died. Any chance you're skilled in midwifery?"

"No," Soren said.

"You'll learn," she said with a chuckle.

Soren tightened his grip on the lid. Magic shimmered under the surface, spice and harsh scents mixed. The women sang in time in a language he did not know, the accent thick and in time to the beat of each cut vegetable, each cut piece of meat. He had hoped to overhear them talking of magic related to this land, so alike and different to Tellius. However, the songs they sang weren't in any language he could understand. He tried to memorize the structure, but it came too fast, high and lilting around him.

Surely there'd be a tome related to this language; he'd only have to seek it out.

"A waulking song," Havira said. 

Soren said nothing. The seal hardened beneath the conjured heat at his fingertips.

"There's no waulking to be done today, but we wouldn't want to get out of practice." 

Soren remained silent as they sang, cutting the fruits and boiling in pots so large, he couldn't even have lifted them. Havira, stocky and voluptuous as she was lifted them with barely a grunt.

"Surprised?" She curled her arm and patted her large muscles.

"I've worked with female knights before," Soren said.

"Always good to hear, I had a cousin who went to be a knight in your country."

She didn't go on, another woman calling her attention. The song went on until they tired, the preserving went on until dusk. He was paid in preserved food. Enough to ensure they wouldn't starve for this year, at least.

*

The crack was loud enough that he heard it on the other side of the house. Soren rushed so fast that the bowl he'd been filling with flour swerved and tipped, and he paid no heed to the waste.

Sweat dripped down Ike's back. He'd ripped the tunic and wrapped it about his injured arm. The boards had a swath of red across them, like spilled paint. Darning couldn't fix this. But the skin he could mend. He clutched tight at Ike's arm as he lifted the cure staff above. White light shone over them both, and the skin mended shut. Only then could he speak, not choked with emotion and worries come fast to light. 

He had made sure to keep buying them, even as it ate into their meager funds.

"Why didn't you use a vulnerary?" Soren said.

"We ran out," Ike said.

Another for the list. At this rate, he might have to read palms and tell people about their _future loves_ just to replace their clothes.

A row of split lumber lay near the back of the growing house. The chill of autumn was already in the air. Red and yellow rimmed the leaves, some of which had already begun to fall in the last few rainstorms.

"Maybe we'll leave the stains," Ike said. 

"And say what, we beat back the undead?" Soren said.

"It could happen," Ike said.

"More like we beat back your sister's sent pies. She mailed us three more, and two of them had rotted through. The third was hard enough to use as a weapon."

Weeks on the road didn't exactly improve the quality, not that her cooking had been anything but hazardous at its best times.

"Perhaps we should just ask she send the recipe," Soren said.

"Then she'll bring herself as well," Ike said. "And her husband."

"We should put in another bed for when that happens."

"The last letter says she's with child, so she probably won't visit until after it's born, at least," Soren said.

"You don't know just how determined my sister is," Ike said.

"I know very well," Soren said. "I've fought battles beside her, and pitied the person against her."

He held on to Ike's arm long after it had healed. Ike didn't shake him off.

"Be careful," Soren said in a low voice.

"I've been through wars, Soren. I don't think a few splinters and axe cuts are going to do me in just yet," Ike said.

"And you were utterly reckless both times. Battling Daein invaders, of all things. The odds were never in our favor."

"We won," Ike said.

Not without losses. He squeezed Ike's arm, unwilling to leave.

"Stay a little while," Ike said.

"I have a mess to clean up," Soren said.

"So do I. It can wait," Ike said.

Soren sat beside him, listening to the songs of birds he'd never heard before, the insect chirps, the gentle wind. 

"We'll have to build on at this rate," Ike said. He kicked his boot lightly against the back wall. When they'd first come here, Soren would've worried that a kick would knock the structure down. But now, it had been bolstered and fixed, enough that the place bore almost no likeness to the broken down hovel it had once been.

"Next year," Soren said. "There's a builder in town, but it's best to make sure the main structure is solid and that we have enough to survive as we build our clientele."

"You've always got the best plans," Ike said.

They lapsed into silence and calm of the summer, just the heat of their skin touching in the flicker of a coming summer dusk.

* 

The daughter of Havira—Soren never did ask her name—came daily now. Her cheeks would grow the same color as her red dress, as she played with the drawstring ridging on her shirt. Despite her stuttering, she offered goods at decent enough prices. Attempts at barter just made her blush more.

The family lost out on quite a bit of income by letting her do any selling, he thought. Havira would strike a far harder bargain. She offered the best milk and highest quality cheese for mere pittances. 

Today's haul was especially good, with a ring of flowers inexplicably wrapped around the container. The girl was not alone this time, her stout ruddy mother carrying half the package.

"We can always count on you both for our wares," Havira said.

Havira wiped the sweat off her brow while the girl shifted from foot to foot, her gaze at her feet.

"A gift for you," Havira said. Her laugh was high and light at seemingly nothing. The girl blushed more. Soren looked down at the apron. It had a slight trim of lace at the top, with a large pocket at the front embroidered specially.

"Consider it a future wedding present," she said, with a wink. The girl looked about ready to dive into the bushes to hide the depth of her embarrassment.

Soren blinked several times. For all his tactical skill, the pieces took some time to fit together. The girl tugged at her mother's sleeves. "Mother, _please_."

"Ike isn't here, and he wouldn't want such a thing—"

Havira waved him away. "No, no. He's not the type for _my_ girl."

Soren cleared his throat, everything falling into place. "I believe you're mistaken."

"Ah, we'll see yet. Come now, Stefia," Havira said. She left the last of the delivery on the doorstep. 

He hadn't heard Ike come up behind him, and only when he lifted up the milk, undeterred by the weight, did Soren notice his presence. Ike fingered the flowers only a moment, before turning to Soren.

"She likes you," Ike said.

"Nonsense, Havira is simply being precocious and gossipy again," Soren said.

"Soren, you know how you've had to take me aside and explain things to me? I'm repaying the favor. She...stares at you."

If even Ike could see a romantic attachment, then it must be truly telling. Soren had long ago had to explain the intricacies of camp etiquette to Ike, but he'd never had to apply them to himself.

"Stares at me like the queen stared at you?" Soren said.

"Apparently. Ranulf had to pull me aside for that one. Didn't change anything, though. I was out of the court by then."

"And thus, the circle is complete," Soren said.

On one hand, it meant one less rival who might win Ike over. No, not rival. He was never in the running to begin with. Soren crumpled the paper in his hand, a single reflex.

"Then I hope she gets over her silly infatuation before long. It'd be a shame to ruin the business relationship, they've just offered to sell us milk at a discounted price for all your efforts," Soren said.

Ike had remained quiet, even grim. 

"I'll merely tell her the truth, and hope Havira doesn't see it as a business-ending slight," Soren said.

As Soren put away the rest in the pantry, Ike's grim expression remained in his mind. He hadn't seen Ike looking that hopeless since the days of the war.

*

Ike tossed and turned that night. With this proximity, Soren could hear the mutterings. Among them this time was his name.

Usually it was his father's, or simply indiscernible. He rested his hand on Ike's back. Ike had soothed him through sleepless nights, and every other moment in between. He could only try and return such kindness. Even when he didn't know the language of comforting, or how to tell good enough lies to pretend for even a second that the world was a good place and that everything would be okay, he would still try for Ike's sake.

Soren knew the world was a horrible place, but for Ike, he would always try.

"It was just a dream," Soren said. The same words Ike had told him so many times. "It was just a dream." 

Ike reached out and took his hand, clutching it tight. His grip so tight that Soren's hand ached, but he didn't speak up. He could take a little pain just to keep Ike closer. That had been the wind-up path of his life from the moment when Ike looked at him and didn't remember the most important moment in Soren's life.

"You...want me to make some food?" Soren always needed a reason to keep his hands busy. If he was working, then he wouldn't have to talk. There was nothing to be gained by useless chatter.

"Yeah." Ike pushed his sweat slicked hair out of his face. "I'd like that."

He pulled jerky and slightly stale bread from his bag. Crumbles fell from his hands as he broke off a piece. With their funds this low, they'd have to scrimp and save even more than usual. If the winter were too cold, things could grow much more difficult. He'd starved once; he would kill, steal and lie just to keep Ike from ever knowing that intimate, clawing ache. 

 

*

When the girl came next, he put the apron back in her hands. She looked down in a sinking realization, her features turning from shy to drawn.

"I-I'm sorry, my mother's got a—"

Soren cut her apologies off. "I'm already in love with someone else," Soren said.

Even if Ike never saw him any differently, he'd stay by Ike's side. Even to the last of his days, the last breath drawn.

She swallowed slowly, and nodded. "I thought you might be. The way you look at him....still, you–you were unlike anyone I've ever known."

She looked down and kneaded her fingers. I-I won't bother you anymore," she said.

He had no intentions of befriending her, and yet, he held out a handful of hard-won gold.

"There's no reason to let a misunderstanding get in the way of business," Soren said.

"O-of course, mother says the same," she said. She smiled for the first time since he'd ever seen her, a tentative, shaking, yet hopeful smile.

*

Ranulf made himself known, loud laughter and banter so loud that it could be heard from outside. Soren undid his cloak as he came in.

"You're late," Ike said.

"I took care of an issue," Soren said. "Havira's daughter."

"Oh, the girl," Ike said.

"So, you're telling me Soren had another admirer?"

"Another?" Ike said.

"Wait, Havira's daughter—I dined with them. The same girl who was sneaking peaks at Lethe and blushing all the while?"

She sure moved on fast.

"Yes," Soren said.

Ranulf slapped his knee as laughed, bent over and barely able to speak.

"Oh, this is just too good," he said. "We should introduce her to that thief girl. They'd get on. This will go down in history as the _second_ time Soren almost got wooed by a lesbian."

"You—what?" Ike said.

"What, he didn't tell you?" Ranulf said. He looked quite eager. 

"Heather, ladykiller that she was, had her eye on Soren for a while. Apparently, she didn't get the memo. Long story short, she tried to put her arm around him and sweet talk him, and—Soren, you should telling this part."

Soren looked at him in irritation. "I thought you were the master storyteller."

"Yes, but you fill it with such _rage,_ " Ranulf said.

Soren let out a long sigh. "There isn't much to tell. She realized her mistake and never bothered me again. She claimed the brush was an accident."

"Heather doesn't have accidents, unless they're the kind of 'accident' which she uses to flirt with someone," Ranulf said. He punctuated the word accident with air quotes.

"Soren never told me that. Is _everyone_ after him now?" Ike said.

"Only lesbians," Ranulf said. He nodded sagely and lifted the cup to his lips. "This is some good tea, any chance you'd be willing to share the recipe? The _king's advisor_ would be in your debt."

"You sure do love using your position to get free things," Ike said.

"If I have to keep Skrimir from headbutting every issue–and I do mean that literally–then I should get something out of it."

Soren grabbed a small spare piece of parchment and wrote it down. Moments later he handed it over to Ranulf, who rolled it up and put it under his arms.

"Many thanks. I expect Skrimir will be wanting to have this with every meal, and sleeping with the recipe under his pillow," Ranulf said. He looked at Soren pointedly. Soren pointedly ignored him. He'd had enough dealings with the heart for one day. He wasn't about to drag international politics into it.

Ike's grip tightened on the table, the grim look returned.

*

Stefia's heartbreak didn't last very long—two months hadn't gone by before Soren heard she was marrying some other girl from the village. A best friend who had finally wooed her after hearing of her mistake. Thankfully, the trade with Havira hadn't changed for the worse.

Ike pulled a piece of crumbled paper out of his pocket.

"I got this from Havira—she said she'd never seen anyone enjoy her cooking like that."

Soren scanned over the paper. Meaty, spicy soup to be served in a bowl of thick, hollowed out brown bread.

"A recipe?" Soren said. 

"I was thinking what this place needs is a restaurant. I told that to Havira, and she gave me that," Ike said.

It was a lot of work for just them. Had he wanted to start one back in Crimea, with the mercenary group, well, that was another story.

But they weren't.

"I see. Tomorrow I'll ask if anyone needs clerical work in the town."

If he had to, he could read more palms and preform the duties of a greenwitch—as long as midwifery wasn't one of them.

Soren pushed his hands into the water. He'd cut the harshness of the lye soap with oil and dust infused with magic. He hands weren't splitting as much, now. 

Ike rested against the wall.

"You're not drying," Soren said before Ike could say anything. 

"Is that an order?"

"Yes. You hurt your hand again," Soren said.

"You healed that earlier," Ike said.

"It changes nothing," Soren said.

Ike needed a chair, a better bed, a better life. Just as before, Ike had given up a cozy existence for roughness and rebuilding. 

Ike watched him, and it felt almost domestic, this silence between them. 

They'd need larger tables if they were to make their own bread and pastries. 

Mist had been horrible at baking, even more so than her stews. Bread came out as hard as a brick and burnt black. Boyd had on more than one occasion, suggested they make it into a weapon.

Soren had never bothered with baking, but he was good enough at cooking. He had learned a variety of things, and what he couldn't do yet, some study would fix.

Of course, they'd have to hire at least one other cook, considering that he'd also be doing the books, and overseeing things. Though he'd probably leave the job of host to someone else, should they ever need one.

Many innkeepers relied on their families as workers. They, of course, would not have that option. Soren mentally worked through each calculation, how much pay it would require. Enough to keep them in the black, but not so little that Ike felt the need to give them vast raises, whole chickens and various furniture to make up for the loss.

 

*

The sole tablecloth was covered in one that Havira had painstakingly stitched together, with a pattern of homes square around the middle. Presumably part of Havira's wedding gifts to him, though she'd never demanded it back. The crystal ball was a trinket which he'd convinced Aimee to sell him last time he'd seen her before leaving Tellius. He'd meant to study the magical imprint left on it, but it had cracked enough in the journey for the power to fade.

He'd learned much from her, from how to hold himself, to how to falsify prophecies. She was a sharp woman, that shop girl. A little too sharp, given that he constantly had to keep his eye on her.

A young woman sat before him in the other chair, cobbled together from scrap wood and barrels. She was dark haired and dark eyed, voted the town beauty in festivals three times in a row, or so Havira said. She looked lovesick thin, and shifted constantly in the chair, unable to keep still.

"He asked me to marry him, but what should I do? He's just so..." She shook her head.

"Alain keeps telling me he doesn't approve, and he's never been wrong about things, but I just love Kristone so much, I couldn't bear to turn him down, and yet—"

Soren ran his thumb down her palm, as if the lines imparted some mystical wisdom. She couldn't bring herself to say it, but she didn't trust the man, even if she did love him. And what could make her that mistrustful about him? What did she suspect?

He racked his mind to try and remember if he'd heard about a Kristone. He'd have pay far more attention to gossip if he was to moonlight as a fortune teller more often. He studied her anxious sighs, and something in her eyes gave it all away. All the secrets she'd held tight came free with a memory of Havira at the creak, and a whispered bit of news.

He looked up at her suddenly.

"You should leave him; he's cheating on you," Soren said.

She gasped. "Is that the truth?"

Soren nodded. "I see all."

"Then that's what the mark upon your forehead is," she said. She pointed to his branded mark, as if he was somehow unaware of the mark which had shaped so much of his life.

"Of course," Soren said flatly. "Marry your friend, he loves you and always has and always be true."

"Alain, he—"

"Is terribly jealous, but only wants your happiness," Soren said.

"Thank you—" She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with a wadded up handkerchief. She got up and began to make her way to the door.

Soren cleared his throat. "Your payment?"

"Oh, of course–I was just, well–" she sniffed again. "I thought we were going to get married, and I'm all scattered now–"

She dropped a few pieces of gold, and took only a moment to catch her breath before she pushed through the doors. The doors hadn't even closed before Ike stepped past her.

Ike raised an eyebrow.

"Lock that door behind her, will you?" Soren said.

He gathered up his gold and put it away in the pouch at his waist.

There was the click of the lock, a closed sign put out as the last light of the day shone through the windows. They'd have to stay up later for the nightly crowd when this project was further along, but for now, he could rest in the money he got from so-called fortune telling.

Ike sat at the table across him. "Give me a reading."

"Ike, you know I'm not psychic. Havira has a sharp eye, and is a gossip which provides information like the last client, the rest is just common sense."

He gripped Ike's hand anyways; he never needed an excuse to touch Ike. Soren peeled off Ike's gloves, lingering with his thumb over Ike's palm. Unlike the others, he didn't try for a mysterious air.

"I am having a divine vision," Soren said. His voice was flat as he looked at Ike. "—in five years, you will be eating a spicy meat dish. You will get it all over yourself, and I'll have to wash it out of your tunic."

"That was too easy," Ike said, with just the slightest of smiles forming across his face.

"—In five years the restaurant won't be a large success, but you'd sell it if it ever attracted a richer set. Travelers and other broken people will be the most of the clientele, and you wouldn't have it any other way. And I'll be by your side," Soren said.

"This is what you see?" Ike said.

"This is what I will make happen," Soren said. 

"Just what I wanted to hear," Ike said.

"That's my job," Soren said.

On a good day, he could make more money on his fortune telling than his secretarial work. Some of the villagers even regarded him with a sort of awe, though he couldn't fathom why. People loved to believe lies in the end.

 

*

The traveling merchants arriving caused quite a stir in the nearby village. Children raced through the street, lifting their new kites to the wind. Soren noticed Havira haggling at the front; she could haggle enough to put Oscar to shame. And most of all, he noticed Aimee, tall and imposing, plying her wears through the crowd with a cultured efficiency. 

"I heard Ike was here," she said. She looked around with a calculating gaze, taking in the newly built table waiting to be smoothed down, the large log in the back which Ike had been carving into a unique sort of bar.

"I've also heard rumors of a restaurant in the making," she said, giving him a once-over with her sharp gaze. "You can't keep these things from the shopkeeper's road of information."

Soren couldn't help the idle thought that if the shopkeepers ever got into intelligence, the whole continent might be peril.

"A restaurant, hmmm? Obviously a place like this needs a good woman to keep a watchful eye as an innkeeper, and I always did want to settle down..." she twisted her long, dark luxurious hair in her fingers. Her eager gaze was just behind Soren's corner of shelves and barrels, hungry for the sight of Ike.

"You're a bit late to the position. He's married," Soren said.

Her grip on the door tightened, and her gaze narrowed. Her determination to be the hero's wife was endless. But that's all she wanted. A hero, not Ike the boy mercenary, Ike the clumsy son of a fallen general who was the very last to reach in battle. Soren had been the one who held his hand through that time, past all the girls who thought to paint Ike their hero, put him into a role he never wanted.

"You must be...mistaken," she said, her voice growing brittle.

Soren shook his head. "I was right at the wedding. Right by his side as he said the vows."

Aimee tossed her hair in irritation. She searched behind him, for clues, for Ike, for anything.

"I won't accept defeat until he tells me himself and shows me the ring," she said. "You've been known to lie before—and I don't trust the tricks of the tactician who was wily enough to outfox _Daein_."

"Suit yourself," Soren said. He closed the door without any other pleasantries, and waited for the sound of her walking away.

From behind the woodpile, Ike came out, his hands covered in soot and ash.

"I lied to Aimee to protect your virtue again," Soren said. He couldn't quite keep the sardonic edge out of his voice.

"You're the bravest man I know, Soren," Ike said. 

"That title belongs to you, Ike," Soren said.

"I was hiding behind a stack of wood so she wouldn't see me. So, I think you've definitely won it over me." Ike rubbed at his temples. "I didn't want it anyways," he said. No other explanation, but Soren already knew. The shoes Ike so wanted to fill never fit him.

"She's likely to return with a love potion, so you should be wary if you see merchants around. But, I'll chase her off is I see her," Soren said. "By the way, I told her you're married."

"Married? Sounds about right," Ike said. He didn't elaborate, but Soren saw the in-between. Of course. It would only be a matter of time.

"I'll go finish dinner," Soren said. He rushed off before Ike could reply, and before his emotions could get the better of him. A few hours by the stove and he'd be calm and logical again. 

*

An aroma of spices filled the kitchen. Soren added a clove of garlic to the soup, then another. The pot bubbled with an orange buttery film, pieces of meat bobbing up as Soren stirred. He heard Ike come in behind him, and didn't look up as he added the slivers of onion.

Ike pulled another from the wall and put it in, stirring in a few peppers for good measure.

"It's going to burn your mouth at that rate," Soren said.

"Good," Ike replied.

Ike looked down at the soup for a moment, his presence tantalizingly close. 

"It put things into perspective," Ike said.

"Yes?" Soren said.

"When I wake up, you're the first thing I want to see. The thought that Stefia, or Skrimir, or anyone else would just waltz in and marry you bothered me. Bothered me a lot."

Soren said nothing, even as the emotions churned inside him. _I felt the same, it's as if you've been reading off my thoughts, and yet...._

"There is no need to worry, Ike. I will remain by your side as long as I draw breath."

"Come now, Soren. You know I'm no good with words," Ike said.

_...but you're always very good at saying exactly what I need to hear._

Soren lost his grip on the spoon, and it fell into the stew pot. He muttered a curse and buried his gaze down, away to hide his expression which Ike could read so easily, read and know.

Ike lifted up his chin. "Soren, I'm not talking about just friendship anymore. I want to spend the rest of my life with you—all that talk about marriage, it made everything come right into place."

"I never...I never allowed myself to believe you would— I—I—" Soren took a breath, and in a moment he was wrapped in Ike's arms, warm and solid and _safe_.

"I do," Ike said.

The pot bubbled, the scent strong, but not as strong as the scent of smoke on Ike's skin. All around their little broken slice of home was work to be done, the promise of years spent here.

This land, Tellius, or even another world would all be just the same to Soren as long as Ike was there beside him.


End file.
